


Fraternizing with the Enemy

by tsukinofaerii



Series: No Soldier Unwounded [4]
Category: Marvel Ultimates
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/F, F/M, Gender Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-06
Updated: 2011-04-06
Packaged: 2017-10-17 16:38:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/178849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsukinofaerii/pseuds/tsukinofaerii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Free from the ice for only a few months, Stevie Rogers still struggles to deal all the changes around her. Modern times and clothes are hard enough to handle by themselves. Add Tony Stark into the mix and it becomes outright impossible. At least she hadn't worn heels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fraternizing with the Enemy

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Valtyr, for her beta efforts! ♥

Beautiful gowns draped all around the dressing room, forming a rainbow of brilliant color. In the middle of all the splendor, Stevie pressed back against the wall, her legs curled together as she did her level best to be invisible. She felt _grubby_ , though her shirt was clean and her jeans pressed. Even the shopgirls had their hair and nails done.

Jan hummed and dug through the dresses, pulling out and separating them by some magic criteria Stevie could only guess at. She’d managed to get them a large room all to themselves, so there was no one to get in her way. The sales girls had fawned and cooed so much, Stevie'd half thought to ask Jan if she was a movie star. One of the girls had even brought them coffee in little porcelain cups on a silver tray.

Just walking into the store had been uncomfortable, with its lush carpets and four-digit price tags. Stevie'd never thought she'd see this sort of luxury in her whole life. Sometimes she still couldn't believe that she could afford to shop at a place like this. That was fine; she would get used to it, the way she had military life. But being treated like a celebrity... No one had briefed her on how to deal with that sort of thing. Not out of the uniform, when it was _Stephanie_ and not Captain America. If Jan hadn't insisted that she needed some sort of formal wear for the big parties Betty Ross was always planning, Stevie would have ducked out an exit and run. As it was, she followed Jan's lead as best as she could, and tried to stay out of the way.

"You look good in red and blue, but..." Jan was saying, more to herself than Stevie, as she sorted the dresses. They'd gone through dozens, with Jan holding them up and then tossing them aside arbitrarily. She had on one of those strange half-tops that girls wore, with a pair of black jeans that set so low her hipbones showed. Stevie tried not to look—Jan was a married woman, after all.

Jan, it had turned out, wasn't anything like Stevie would have expected her to be. She'd apologized for the dirty trick with the baby doll, and hadn't been anything but nice since then. Stevie hadn't ever had a _female_ friend except Gail—it was nice to have someone help her shop, even if they did butt heads sometimes.

"No red or blue. We don't want to get stuck in a theme," Jan mused to herself. Silk and satin spread out under her hands: short skirts, long skirts, things that were layers and layers of filmy gauze. Stevie bit her lip when a baby blue one was pulled out and shoved back in before she could see more than the boning on the bodice. "Captain America in flag colors is going to get old really quick. What do you think about a nice mauve, or maybe rose?"

"I like pink," Stevie offered hesitantly. "You don't have to go through all this trouble. I'll probably just wear my dress greens again. Like last time."

"You need a nice dress or two," Jan insisted, without even looking up from the froth of peach ruffles she was inspecting. "The Ultimates are a big deal. You can't just wear a uniform _everywhere_."

Privately, Stevie disagreed. Uniforms were perfectly functional, and they didn't leave her feeling weirdly like a girl pretending to be a boy pretending to be a girl. "If you say so."

"I do say so."

Stevie's thumb and forefinger rubbed back and forth over her knee, worrying the fabric. She didn't want to be in the store—didn't want to put on a dress just to find out, again, it didn't fit across her shoulders and her arms were too muscular and she was too tall and her breasts were too small. The few casual dresses she'd bought so far in this time period had already proven that it wasn't worth the pain of trying. Men's clothes were decent enough of a fit, and if they weren't pretty, she just had to deal with it.

She wished Gail could have been there. Then maybe she wouldn’t have to explain why some dresses just didn’t look _right_ , like the cut was just a little off, or the neck a little low. Jan didn’t understand the way Gail did.

Fabric rustled, and a grown dropped in her lap. It was pink, like Jan had promised, starting light rose at the shoulders and fading to a darker color at the bottom. The material was shiny, and soft as butter in her hands. It didn't even catch on her calluses.

"Try it," Jan urged. Her heels bounced against the carpet as she bobbed up and down eagerly.

Hesitantly, Stevie inspected it, looking over the seams and checking the cloth. It _looked_ well-made, and for the price it no doubt was, it had better be. Jan knew her well enough now to know what to shop for: long sleeves that wouldn’t be too tight across her biceps, a high neckline and a skirt that would touch the floor. There'd be no chance of looking loose.

When she turned it around, Stevie's jaw dropped. "Where's the back?"

"That _is_ the back." Jan took the dress from her and slipped it off the hanger. She held it up by the shoulders.

The dress, perfect in every other respect, didn't have anything even remotely resembling a back. It cut straight down from the shoulders that came together just above the hips. Not only would the wearer not be able to have a normal bra, but if she weren't careful, she wouldn't be able to have underwear either. "I don't know..."

"Just try it. I'll be wearing less, and it's only your back. No one will care," Jan promised. She folded the gown over her arm and grabbed Stevie's elbow, pulling her to her feet. "This will look great on you. My mother was in fashion design. Trust me."

Jan knew modern fashions, Stevie told herself. And it was just a back, like she'd said. "I'll _try_. But if it looks ridiculous, you can't laugh." Swallowing, Stevie pulled off her polo shirt and shimmied out of her jeans.

When Jan saw her chest wrap, she clicked her tongue. "I know you have bras. I helped you buy them."

Stevie flushed and set her jaw, turning her back to Jan. Thick bandages dropped to the floor as she unbound herself; it wouldn't fit right if she didn't take them off. "It's more comfortable, okay? Hand me the dress." She wore a bra most days. Just sometimes, it was reassuring to go back to the wraps.

There wasn't a zipper. Instead, the gown had three tiny hooks at the very top of the hips. That was all there was room for. Steve slipped into it, expecting the worst. She _hoped_ for the worst. It would give her an excuse to try something less revealing or, if she were lucky, to stick with her uniform. At least until Jan thought of finding a tailor.

Her hopes turned out to be useless. Instead of the stretched , too-tight sensation that Stevie had come to expect, the dress slid smoothly over her shoulders and settled into place without a fight. Even her arms had plenty of room in the loose, flowing sleeves. Stevie stared down at the front of it, feeling a little betrayed. "It fits."

"It does," Jan said just a little gleefully as she fastened the eyehooks. "Move around a bit. Twist. You'll be in it for hours. Make sure it's comfortable."

A rock sank to the pit of Stevie's stomach as she twisted and bent on Jan's orders. Full-length mirrors on the wall showed everything. It _was_ a beautiful gown. Sequins arced down from the left shoulder and curled towards the right hip, forming a spray of flowers. With the flare at the hips, she couldn't even see her muscled thighs. But every time she moved, the cold air across her shoulder blades reminded her that her well-defined back was bare for everyone to see.

Gail would have _loved_ to see her in it, back in the forties. She would have liked taking her out of it even more. "I really think I'd prefer my uniform."

"Stevie." The catch in Jan's voice made her look up. Jan's eyes stared up at her pleadingly. "Please? You look gorgeous. Just buy it, and if you still don't want to wear it, you'll always have your uniform."

Sequins flashed at Stevie as she smoothed her hands down the front. It _was_ a beautiful dress. It was something Rita Hayworth would have been proud to own. Before Project Rebirth, she would have given almost anything for something like it. But back then, she woke up every morning and put on her makeup and did her hair. She'd worn skirts every chance she could, and had put up with her bad knee enough to go window shopping with Gail. All that had been put behind her when she'd agreed to fight. Women didn't belong on the battlefield, after all.

She felt like a fraud.

Gail would tell her to stop being silly, if she'd been able to go shopping with them. Bucky would, too, and he'd been there with Stevie, shoulder to shoulder, watching men they'd talked to at dinner go down. He'd never said she didn't belong there, and he knew everything about her.

Jan stared at her, waiting for her to make up her mind. For whatever reason, it was important to her. Looking at Jan's poorly hidden hope, Stevie's throat tightened. "I'll wear it."

"Great!" Jan squealed. Her arms wrapped around Stevie's neck in a tight hug. "Now, take it off and get dressed! We have to find the accessories now."

Carefully, Stevie hugged her back, suddenly aware of how fragile Jan felt against her. Back in the war, she'd killed men with just her hands more than once. It wasn't hard to put too much pressure in the wrong place. "Shoes and a purse," she agreed, trying to distract herself from how easy it would be to get a grip on her friend's neck. She didn't want to have those thoughts any more.

Another squeeze, and Jan let her go. "For a start."  


* * *

  
Stevie huddled at a table with her back to the wall and watched people mingle, fiddling with her pink clutch. Betty Ross had convinced Fury to hold the party on the Triskelion. It made for an impressive setting, with plenty of room for the dancers, the diners and the social butterflies to share a space. An orchestra was situated on the far wall, near a huge bank of windows that were surely a security risk. Frost glittered in delicate lines around their edges, but the room was too warm for them to be completely covered in it. Next there was the dance floor, where a few couples were taking a turn. Most of the people weren't there to dance, though, and gathered at the tables and the space farthest from the music for conversation.

What it meant for her was that most of the tables were out in the open. She'd had to move one in order to give herself a wall to put her back to. Even if she hadn't been in a dress that showed her back from nape to hips, she wouldn't have been able to bear sitting at an open table. Being exposed that way was just too nerve wracking. _Anyone_ could walk up behind her with a gun, and she'd never know it until the first shot was fired.

" _Stevie!_ " Jan appeared out of the crowd near the back and dropped down into a chair. As _Doctor_ Pym, she'd been holding court with a bevy of other scientists, mostly other women. It had given Stevie a proud moment to see so many women doctors. She had listened in for a while, and then gone her way when she realized it was too technical for her to follow. "Are you enjoying the party?"

"It's nice." Stevie tried to smile, but it fell flat. "You look good."

That was such a massive under-statement, it was almost a lie. Jan looked _beautiful_ , wearing a dark blue, off the shoulder number that showed off her figure perfectly and made her skin glow. If she hadn't been married... but no. Everyone knew what was said about girls who fool around with married people. And there was Gail, and the age difference. It would be too strange.

"You do too, if I say so myself," Jan beamed.

Blushing, Stevie touched the clips in her hair awkwardly. Jan had done something to it, with gels and curlers and decorative bobby-pins. It almost looked _feminine_ , instead of like the grown-out buzz that it was. "You did a good job on it. Thank you."

"Next time, just don't fight so hard," Jan pointed out, tipping her champagne flute towards Stevie. "You look lovely, and for a formal event you really need makeup and jewelry of some sort."

"You _tackled_ me," Stevie protested, feeling deeply put upon. "And Gail _helped_." That was the real insult. If it had been just Jan, or if Jan had just asked _nicely_ , there wouldn't have been any trouble. Instead, she'd been ambushed in her own apartment, and Gail had held the brushes while Jan painted her up, and then weighed her down with jewelry. Stevie didn't have a chance of resisting Gail's disappointed look, and they both knew it.

"Now that's something that would be worth seeing," a familiar, smooth voice cut in. Tony Stark grinned as he and Hank Pym sidled up to the table, looking a picture in their penguin suits. One of those pictures was something out of a dirty magazine. Over the course of the evening, Stark had loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar. A touch of lipstick was smeared on his ear, a light shade that Stevie only spotted because it was shiny. Of course, Stark had arrived at the event already soused, with a girl on each arm. They’d both been taller than him in their heels, with figures that could have stepped out of a magazine. Not a spare ounce of flesh on either, other than almost unrealistically magnificent bosoms. The redhead’s neckline had nearly reached her navel. As a result Stevie had never managed to notice her eye color.

Two glasses in hand, Stark dropped down into a chair and graced Stevie with a leer, not spilling a drop. "Breath taking. Nearly as breathtaking as the vision before me." His eyes cut down Stevie’s figure unashamedly. "I don’t think I’ve ever seen you dressed up. Are those earrings? Your ears weren’t pierced last week.”

Awkwardly, Stevie touched her freshly pierced ears and looked away from him to hide her blush. "Jan insisted." And then they'd had to re-pierce them just before the event, because they'd healed over on her. "What do you want?"

"I can't speak for Tony," Hank butted in. His hands rested on Jan's shoulders, pale against her darker skin. "But I came to claim my wife for a dance."

"Is that so, Mr. Pym?" Jan asked, tilting her head back. In response, Hank leaned down and kissed her cheek.

"Definitely so, Mrs. Pym."

Jan’s answering smile lit her whole face. Hank pulled her up from the chair and out to the dance floor, their heads tilted together the whole way. Jealousy twisted at Stevie's chest. One time, Gail had looked at her like that.

"So, alone at last." The line could have been lewd, but instead it was straight-forward.He could have been commenting on the music. One of Stark's glasses scraped the table as he shoved it at her. "Drink up. You look like you need it."

Stevie eyed the drink warily. She'd never been much of one for alcohol, and the super soldier serum made it hard for her to get drunk. Even the rotgut some private had smuggled with him hadn't done more than give her a headache, and they'd used the last of _that_ as a cleaner. Nothing she'd seen in modern glasses was going to cut it.

But, in spite of all logic and experience, the drink Stark offered somehow _looked_ alcoholic, with layers of bright pink, orange and yellow glistening stickily in the tumbler. It might not have been strong enough on its own to intoxicate her, but it looked like it was going to make an effort.

Hesitantly, she took a sip. Sweet, smooth, and with only a faint trace of alcohol. That was the worst; when a drink didn't taste alcoholic, it was probably strong enough to down a horse. "Thanks, I think." Then, just in case he thought she _liked_ him, "Don't you have a skirt to chase?"

He grinned, that smooth, devil may care smile that he probably thought was charming. And maybe it would have been, a little, if she hadn’t been dolled up and on guard. "What makes you think I'm not chasing one right now?"

So that's how it was. In spite of herself, she smiled a little. "Give it up. You don't have a chance. I know your type."

Stark, unsurprisingly, was undaunted. "My type? Charming, handsome, and good in bed?"

She took another sip to bolster herself, letting the sharp tang of grapefruit roll around on her tongue. It was a good drink, at least. "You're the kind of guy who thinks every woman wants him. I watched men like you love 'em and leave 'em all through the war, breaking hearts left and right. You might fool some girls, but not me."

When she paused, Stark rotated his wrist at her. "Do go on," he encouraged. "I love hearing about myself."

"An arrogant SOB too," she added, and he actually laughed.

She probably would have liked Stark, if she were just Captain America again. He was funny, and seemed like he had a good grasp of his own limitations. Plus, he was good in a fight, and that counted for a lot on the front lines.

"Accurate enough, but in my own defense, I don't break hearts." Stark settled back in his chair, watching her with a placid expression. "I'm very up-front about what I want, and what I don't. It's all very egalitarian."

The glass was making her fingers numb from the cold. Stevie rotated it around, watching the colors ooze into one another. "You can take your _egalitarianism_ elsewhere. Not interested."

Stark tipped his glass towards her, and then took a long pull. "As you wish, Buttercup." His expression hadn't changed, as if getting shot down didn't matter a bit. It probably didn't, Stevie thought darkly. Guys like him had a dozen girls on the line. "Shame, though. I enjoy spending time with lovely ladies."

Embarrassment made her want to squirm in her seat. Compliments weren’t something she’d ever get used to. Before project Rebirth, the only honest ones came from Gail, and after everything had been completely different. All around her were women ten times as pretty as she was, who could wear a dress without looking ridiculous, and someone like Tony Stark was hitting on _her_? She just didn’t buy it.

"Oh, stuff it," Stevie muttered under her breath, taking another drink. It burned in her stomach as the alcohol tried to take hold, but only lasted a minute before fading away to total sobriety. "You can stop wasting your time."

"Isn’t it my time to waste?" Stark asked, gesturing to her idly. "Not that I consider it a waste, making time with a beautiful woman and decorated war hero."

Jan and Hank were still taking a turn around the dance floor, though the song had switched twice. She watched them instead of looking at Stark, fiddling with the rim of her glass. "Making time with a ninety year old soldier, you mean," she corrected. "I already told you no. Do you even listen to yourself?"

"All the time. My voice is exquisite. You should hear me in the shower." A hand settled over hers on the glass. Stevie glared, first at it, then at Stark, who just smiled and tapped a beat on her knuckles, right over one of her old scars. "I don't pass out compliments when I don't mean them." His voice had a strange, gentle quality, even though the lines were all ones she would expect from someone like him.

Heat touched her cheeks, and she looked away, reclaiming her hand. Stark was a boozer, a ladies' man and a hedonist, Stevie reminded herself. Pretty words didn't mean a damned thing. "Yeah, well... You're a drunk. You'd probably say the same to a lamppost."

"I prefer the term alcohol deficient," he grinned. "But just to prove to you that I'm not so intoxicated as all that..." The chair legs scraped the floor as he stood, and his hand wrapped around hers. She barely noticed that it was chilly before he pulled her upwards. Without thinking, she rose her to her feet, then cursed inwardly for having given him an advantage. "Shall we dance?"

" _What_?" Stevie demanded, digging in her heels. Stark, being shorter and lighter, didn't have a chance to budge her, but she didn’t want to make a scene. Thank God, she'd worn flats. "Not a chance, Buster. What do you think you're doing?" People were _staring_.

She wished Thor was there. He’d never let anyone manhandle a lady.

"Proving myself," Stark grinned, teeth whiter than white against his dark skin and beard. Something in his stance twisted, pulling her weight off-side, and Stevie found herself stepping forward just to stay upright. "One dance, and if I screw up, you can punch me."

"I told you that I'm not interested," Stevie hissed. A blush had taken over her cheeks, and she could _feel_ the eyes on her back. If she had to, she could knock him on his ass, but that would just attract more attention. "Let me go!"

"A dance as friends." Another dip and weave, and Stevie reluctantly let him pull her. "I danced with Janet earlier in the evening, and I can assure you that I've no interest in winning her away from her dashing husband."

Desperation sank in. Every time Stark got her to move, she was another step closer to total and utter humiliation. As a final measure, Stevie braced herself and pulled. Stark, who hadn't been expecting the tug, stumbled in close. She grabbed his biceps to keep him from pulling away.

"I don't know how to dance," Stevie growled in a low voice. "And if you take me out onto that floor and I make a fool of myself, I'm going to take it out of your hide."

Stark looked a heartbeat from making some smartass remark, but his expression changed a beat before he opened his mouth. "What, the height of physical perfection, and no one's taken you out dancing? Are you kidding me?"

"I went from having a gi—" No, not that word. That word was rude, nowadays. "—a bad leg as a gal to fighting a war as a guy. When did I have time, huh?"

Something about that sank in. Stark's cheerful smile dimmed as he seemed to think that over. Stevie waited patiently for him to let her go, so she could return to the safety of her table. Instead, what she got was another tug as Stark pulled her ear down to his mouth.

"Let me teach you."

"Not a chance in Hell."

"Come on," he insisted, wheedling. This close, she could smell the alcohol on his breath, feel his goatee tickling her ear. Strangely, he didn't even attempt to do anything else; just stood there and whispered, "One dance, and I'll be a perfect gentleman. You shouldn't have to sit out because you've had some bad luck."

 _Bad luck_ he called it. Stevie didn't even know where to start with that. She pulled away, before Stark's facial hair could send any more shivers down her back. "What do you care?"

If she hadn't known better, she never would have guessed Stark was three sheets gone. "Because Little Boy Blue had your posters on his wall," he said confusingly.

Stevie eyed him, but Stark didn't seem like he wanted to explain, so she put it down to liquor. Dancing _was_ something she'd always wanted to try, and never been able to. But it was _Stark_ , who’d first greeted her with lingerie an inappropriate note about her bosom.

Dancing. Stark. Dancing. Stark.

She _hated_ these sorts of choices. "Perfect gentleman?"

"You'll think I'm gay."

Dancing. "I hope I don't regret this," she muttered, finally giving Stark her hands willingly. He smiled, an honest and open one that she didn't buy for a second, and pulled her towards the floor, leaving her purse abandoned on the table. The music was shifting to another smooth, easy song, and she almost suspected Stark of timing her capitulation. No one could be _that_ good at manipulation, though.

Stark, thankfully, stayed near the edge of the floor, where she could escape easily if it all went wrong. He faced her, lifting one of her hands and putting the other on his shoulder so her sleeve slipped down to her elbow. "Not to sound cliché, but follow my lead. Left foot first."

Against her hand, his was a firm pressure, making a solid weight between them. Something in her stomach fluttered as he put a hand to the small of her back, fingers spread over bare skin. The weight in her hand pushed, and Stevie stepped back with her left foot. Weight shifted again, and they stepped left. Then forward, and then right, like a square.

If she listened close, she could catch the beat. Music had never been her strong point. It took her a few turns before she caught onto the timing, and her steps started matching Stark's, instead of being a half-second behind.

Stark really had incredibly blue eyes, she noticed uncomfortably. They were made to look even bluer by the red shots from his drinking, but they were still pretty. Not liking the direction her thoughts were heading, Stevie dropped her eyes. So what if he was handsome? He was still a lech, and that was all there was to it.

"Hey, eyes on me," he murmured softly, twisting them a little on the next step so her skirt flared against her legs. "If you look at your feet, you'll stumble."

"I wasn't—" Stevie cut herself off before she could admit that she was embarrassed. She gritted her teeth and made herself look up again. "Never mind."

He squeezed her hand and didn't comment. It was maybe the nicest thing he'd done all night. The touch on her back seemed incredibly important, sending tingles up her spine. She'd thought his hands were cold, but she'd been wrong. They were _warm_ , and they definitely weren't helping her composure. It was shockingly intimate for such a simple place. The only person who’d ever touched her _there_ , skin to skin, had been Gail.

After a moment, Tony said, "You're doing very well. I should have known that someone who can take a man down with one kick could dance. Brace yourself."

Before she could ask what he meant by that, the hand on her back _pushed_ , and she found herself spinning out to the far end of his arm. Stevie gaped in surprise before another pull dragged her up against him again, closer than she'd been before.

"What was that for?" she demanded, speaking around the heart lodged in her throat. Now she could feel the firm muscle in his chest and arms,the strength of his legs when he stepped with her. It wasn't at all what she'd expected from a man who fought in armor.

"It was fun, wasn't it?" Tony grinned, a little of the old devil back in his eyes. That made her feel better. She knew how to deal with him when he wasn't being serious. Anything else was just bizarre.

"I think I lost ten years of my life." No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't make her tone sharpen the way she wanted. It _had_ been fun. That didn't excuse the shock, though.

"That was fun for _me_. You're just collateral damage." The song started winding to a close, and Tony gracefully glided them to a stop. "How'd I do?"

Stevie pressed her lips together and considered. Her knees still felt funny, and the spot where his hand had rested on her back was cold now. Sure, he'd shocked her with that spin, but he hadn't even tried to cop a feel once. "Not bad," she admitted. "Thank you."

"Always a pleasure." Without warning, he lifted her hand a brushed a kiss over her knuckles. For the millionth time that night, Stevie's heart jumped. "Now," Tony said as he let go of her hand and stepped back, "if you'll excuse me, I wouldn't want to wear out my welcome."

With a teasing, messy salute, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and walked away. Stevie stared after him as the song drifted to silence.

What the Hell had that been about?

"Hey!" Before she could do more than wonder, Jan appeared at her side. Short, colorful nails dug into Stevie's elbow as Jan wrapped her hands around it. A man with a camera hovered awkwardly behind her, pale and intimidated. "I promised Gail that I'd make you get pictures. You're done with Tony, right?"

Stevie scanned the crowd, but Stark had vanished entirely. Shaking off the weird feeling in her stomach, she turned and gave Jan a smile. "Yeah. I'm done with Tony."


End file.
